


The Fire Beneath the Melting Pot

by Cythieus



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canon Aware Sequel, F/F, F/M, Gen, Major Character Injury, Oral Sex, Political Overtones, Relocation (To the US), Rough Sex, Time Skips, Vaginal Fingering, adult characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 12:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11944701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cythieus/pseuds/Cythieus
Summary: Will update character list and relationship list as story progresses.It's been years since Tokyo and the Phantom Thieves. Makoto lives in Washington D.C. working for the Japanese Embassy when she's drawn in by Igor and told that her services might be required. When the ladies of the Phantom Thieves show up on her doorstep unannounced for a birthday surprise they're sucked into conflict within another fragment of the Metaverse that threatens to destroy the whole world.





	The Fire Beneath the Melting Pot

_Can you still hear the sound of my voice?_

_If so, there’s still a chance._

_The game’s still rigged against us, but the players have changed._

The subtle noise as the subway slides into its stop and the small jerk jolt Makoto awake. Her book is flattened against her skirt with a hand pressed down to guard it and her purse is wedged behind her and the seat. She searched the length of the subway car for any sign of the person who had spoken to her. A dream perhaps?

A man in a navy-blue hoodie with a scraggily brown beard eyed her. His hands were in his pockets and his back hunched over so that he was slouching. When she was out there were always a few people who stared at her. Her English was surprising even her at this point and there were surely Japanese in Washington D.C., but something marked her as foreign.

This man wasn’t coy about it, he kept eyes locked on her as he walked down the train. She took her time making herself ready for departure so that by the time she was headed to the door there was some space between them. The doors opened and people filed out, dispersing into the station. Makoto made her way through the crowds and up the escalator to the street level. Even before she was outside she could hear the angry shouts of protestors. Their presence was a daily occurrence now. Often, they were loud, but peaceful. They didn’t bother her in those moments as if they sensed a type of kinship with her. Rights to choose what happened to your own body, protections for minority groups, an end to pointless wars—these were a things Makoto felt strongly about too. She got involved in politics for this reason.

But the protestors today weren’t the type. They were pressed together behind police barricades shouting about ‘blood and soil’ and reciting another slogan that she couldn’t make out over the drone of traffic and the sounds of the city. She avoided looking directly at them, but watched them through the side of her eyes as she clutched her purse and walked along the front of the barricade. Her condo was visible ahead on the next block, though the road to the brown brick building was lined with demonstrators.

Makoto headed over a block, breaking away from the shouting and commotion. If this were what it would look like later she’d have to skip her jog. And she had been sticking to this new workout routine pretty rigorously. She wasn’t in school anymore—no one was going to force you to exercise in the real world and, though it had been a fantastic workout, her time as a Phantom Thief was six years in the past.

If she had to stay in there was always the punching bag or the exercise bike. There was nothing wrong with those things, she just liked the look of D.C. at night. Especially after rain, and it looked like they might get a bit. Rain washed the city clean and made the streets shine with the greens, reds, and ambers of the traffic lights. It didn’t get rid of marchers though.

“Miss Niijima? I thought that was you.” A man in a sports coat with a Captain America shirt under it jogged halfway up the block to meet her. He pushed his thick, black rimmed glasses back up onto his face has he stopped in front of her. “I interviewed you for the Washington Post Arts and Entertainment section?”

Of course she remembered. The dark hair, devil may care stubble, and those piercing blue eyes...he was tall and slender, but clearly toned too. She hadn’t taken much time for dating since she left Japan and the last man she had anything serious with was already married to a friend. This guy was the first that made her think about attempting to kindle something. “Oh, right,” she said putting a hand to her chin as if she were concentrating. “Peter Richards, right?”

“She does remember,” he said. “You live on this side of town or just visiting?”

Makoto twisted to point at the top of her building jutting up on the next block. “That’s me,” she laughed. Flirting was more difficult in English. Her English was classroom taught, but a lot of it was also learned from watching old episodes of _The Simpsons_ and _Friends_. That had been Ann’s idea and when it was first suggested to her she thought it was crazy, but it worked.

“I saw the piece you wrote on me,” Makoto said.

“What did you think?” he asked.

Makoto rocked back and forth on her feet, clutching her book and purse in front of her. “I liked it,” she said. “I noticed you comment that I am beautiful,” Makoto smirked and tilted her head toward him slightly.

Peter threw his hands up. “Oh, yeah. My editor saw the photo of you in the coffee shop and said that we needed to address the elephant in the room.”

Makoto took a second to digest his sentence. “It wasn’t a complaint. I did have a question for you. Is there any ethical issues with your…seeing the subject of an old story?”

Peter adjusted his glasses and slipped his hands back into his pockets. “I mean, there’s some question about the line between journalists and those they report on. I’d be happy to discuss it over coffee.”

“A friend of mine grows her own beans and specially makes coffee back home,” Makoto started. “She sends me a bag pretty often, I’d be happy to…brew some at my place?”

 

* * *

 

 

The pretense lasted until they got into the hallway on her floor. He tugged her toward him, his hands coming to rest on the top hem of her skirt. “Is this what I think…?”

Makoto kissed him and ran her free hand over the top of his. They paused for a moment kissing in the middle of the hall. An elevator’s ding cut them short and Makoto grasped his hand and led him to her door. She was fumbling with the key as he kissed her down the side of her neck. He was pressed against her back and she could feel the heat of his body, the taunt muscle of his chest through her blouse and his t-shirt. The key turned in the door and she feels the pressure of his hand on her side, then her stomach, with it ghosting toward her waistline. When the door was open she dropped the key on the table just inside and plunged his hand down the front of her skirt, inviting him to do his worse.

Casual sex wasn’t something she excelled at, but this wasn’t the first time. She didn’t make a habit of it because it seemed like the kind of thing that could take over someone’s life. Like right now, she couldn’t think of the English word for the thing they’d just come through. She couldn’t reason out how to tell him to close it.

“Door,” she said so softly that it might have been a moan. His fingers edged closer to entering her and she jerked her head to the side. “Door,” she said again. Peter kicked the door closed and continued to rub at her until tried to buck against him. “Iku,” the word was a breath, an afterthought. “Iku.” He hooked his fingers up under and inside of her slowly as she widened her stance to accommodate him.

Makoto bucked against his hand now as if she were trying to help him reach something deep inside of her. His glasses dug into the side of her forehead and caught on her hair as he pushed his lips close to her ear. “You’re so wet,” his whispered words made Makoto go weak and she was almost stumbling to keep the rhythm of her thrusts.

 

* * *

 

Makoto stepped out of the small tile bathroom with her hair still damp, it’d have to stay that way because she was spent. She’d missed her proper workout, but gotten something she hadn’t realized she needed until it was happening. Peter was sleep in her bed, when she’d stepped into the shower he had been on the back balcony smoking a vapor cigarette and scrolling through his Twitter.

She didn’t know if this was going to be a thing, but as she climbed into bed and plugged in her phone Peter adjusted to throw an arm around her. Her eyes closed snuggled in closer to him. Suddenly she felt a strange weight pushing down on her. Her eyes were heavy and she drifted off.

 

* * *

 

A nearly empty theater with stadium style seating extends downhill to a dull white screen that gives off the faintest of light. Where the light touches the tops of the seat, the carpet on the stairs, it’s possible to see that everything is a lush purple.

Makoto doesn’t know what manner of dream this is, but she sees two figures sitting in the middle row of seats staring toward the screen. A voice from a long forgotten dream calls out to her. “Come, have a seat. The show is about to begin.”

She makes her way down the stairs and sidles down the row to where the sinister looking old man waits. Igor. She can’t tell if she remembers him for real or if something happened in her head. It felt fake and real all at once. The blonde woman from before is there, Lavenza. She clutches a film reel under one arm. There’s a bucket of popcorn between them, Igor lifts it out and passes it around as Makoto reaches them. “Popcorn?” he asks.

“No thank you, I have a feeling it wouldn’t do much to fill me up wherever it is that we are,” Makoto said.

Igor chuckles. “You’ve caught on faster than the other ones. Welcome to my Velvet Room.”

“Though this isn’t your first time here,” Lavenza said. Her voice was somewhere more recently. Makoto racked her brain to remember.

“I don’t understand, we destroyed that other world when we saved Tokyo from a demented God. What use would you have with me now?”

Igor fished a piece of popcorn out with a gloved hand and tossed it into his mouth. “The situation in the depths of Mementos isn’t an incident that is as rare as we’d like to think. This world is reaching a tipping point.”

“A push in the wrong direction could send it careening over the edge,” Lavenza said.

Makoto was jerked back to her interaction this morning on the train. “It was you. When I was sleeping I heard your voice,” she said pointing to Lavenza.

Lavenza nodded. “Sometimes when we first make contact things can be rocky. We were able to get in touch with you this morning, but we couldn’t fully bring you into this realm.”

“Does this mean the Metaverse Nav and all of that stuff from before is back?” Makoto asked.

“All in due time, for now return to your world and rest. Lavenza, we have a contract to draw up.”

The scene seemed further and further away as the light of the screen in the movie theater grew dimmer. Makoto awakened in her bed, the arms of the journalist pulling her close to his chest. Everything felt cold now, like he was an icy sweat slicked weight tugging her back into the bed. How could this have followed her all the way here?

Outside her window the sky was beginning to turn purple and pink. The sun would be up soon. She would try and get some sleep before then.


End file.
